


In self-defence

by Anonymous



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Antarctic Empire, Drista is a princess of the SMP, Gen, Good Sibling Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Kidnapping, NO SHIPS NO SHIPS NO SHIPS, Not Beta Read, Parental Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Parental Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Tommy and Drista are kidnapped but they escape, Tommy is a prince of the AE, Tommy kills a man, description of murder, minecraft personas, new tags baybee, royal au, they are both friends your honor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28433154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Tommy and Drista were at the wrong place, at the wrong time. Taken by their kingdoms' enemies, they try to escape.Or: Tommy cares for his friend, enough to kill for their safety. He has no time to feel ill about it.
Relationships: Clay | Dream's Sister Drista & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 41
Kudos: 499
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Idk what really prompted this. Just an...idea?  
> Nothing /too/ graphic, but please be careful reading. Murder part is nearing the end.  
> Not sure if there will be updates to this?
> 
> This will be taken down if any CC wants it to be.

Tommy curses loudly through the gag, slouched almost protectively on himself as he stares at the men towering over him. He can’t recognize the marks on their capes or their shields, but is vaguely aware they were enemies of the Antarctic Empire after today.

Drista is slouched at his side, glaring daggers at the armed men, hands bound behind her with thick rope just like Tommy’s. Her lips a thin line as she tries to look menacing.

She’s scared, Tommy can tell, because he’s scared, too.

It has been his fault, why had he convinced Drista to ditch the castle in order to go to the bazar? They just wanted to hang out while their families discussed new trades and treaties, and wanted to be kids again after months of meetings and stuffy events.

He didn’t mean to get them kidnapped. Bound and gagged and drug to sleep before being carried off. Whoever the enemy was, they clearly had only meant to get him, Drista had been a surprise they managed to snatch away.

It makes him feel twice as guilty and angry, at himself and his captors.

Their gags are removed only to supply water, and Tommy almost chokes in between his hoarse swears as Drista refuses to drink anything.

* * *

  
  


He knows his family will come for him sooner rather than later (They had to, they just had to, right?) and Dream would tear the entire world appart in order to reach his sister, it was a matter of time. Tommy could already see Phil and Wilbur and Techno on their way.

_ (Do they even know what has happened? Are they even near them now?) _

He and Drista huddle together, most of the time. Neither trust their captors nor want the other alone with them. Both royals put up a front for the other, brave and angry. Showing how scared they are will do no good.

Tommy notices Drista’s subtle shaking, the way her eyes seem to widen slightly in a panic every time an armed person comes to them. Drista can see the way Tommy tries to free his hands each time, wrists red and raw from the ropes, posture slouched like a wild animal trying to protect itself.

They’re both scared, they’re just children.

They want their brothers. 

* * *

  
  


“Drista,” Tommy says one night, voice slightly wavy and laced with hopeful disbelief. “I-I think I got a knot loose.”

“Wha--?” Drista swallows, eyes frantic looking at the heavy door from their prison before looking at Tommy. “You’re sure?”

“I’m moving my wrists right now. Bitches thought they could keep me still, huh?” He says with just a smidgen of his usual cocky front. “Just a bit more, h-holy shit I think I can feel a rope loose.”

“You’re bleeding all over them!” Drista hisses, looking at the wounds on Tommy’s wrists as he frantically tries to move his arms. Hazel eyes wide with hope as she notices the bloodied ropes beginning to slack their hold on Tommy’s. “Tommy stop-- Stop!”

“Just a little more--” 

The wooden door creaks open, stilling both teens on their tracks, huddling together once again with their backs pressed against the furthest wall of their cell, feeling each stone and crevice against their arms.

It’s only a man, tall but not as tall as Tommy, armor pieces nowhere to be seen but both can see the dagger strapped to his hip.

“You two look like a pair of rats,” The man comments, lips curling into a mockery of a grin. “Nobility really falls from grace after a couple of days, huh?”

“Fuck you, ugly bitch.” Tommy hisses, he won’t be quiet. His anger is still palpable.

“I'd cut your tongue and send it to your stuck-up family if I could, brat.” Their captors spit, and Tommy feels the urge to swallow. “But orders are orders.”

“What the fuck--?”

Keys jingle for a second, their cell opens with a haunting noise of metal as the man steps in. Tommy immediately became aware of how little distance there is between themselves and one of their captors. Trying to stand up, Tommy offers Drista the slightest bit of covering, pushing her behind him with quivering bravado.

“Ain’t here for you, Move it!” The man barks, shoving Tommy aside with force before grabbing Drista by the back of her dress shirt, feet not touching the ground for a split second before being thrown over the man’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “You’ll have a long trip to enemy lines,  _ princess _ .”

Panic sets in immediately.

“Get your hands off me!” Drista shrieks, angry and scared and thrashing like a wild animal, enough to make the man stumble and curse, the teenager’s legs kicking widly and managing to catch the kidnapper on the gut, allowing the girl a second to escape the hold, pressing herself against the bars in a panic.

Tommy panics as well, mouth dry. They’re taking Drista. They’re taking Drista right in front of him, his friend could die after dissapearing from behind the door, could be sent anywhere in the world and this is his fault. This--

Tommy curls up on himself, eyes wide and anger pooling on his stomach alongside fear. His wrist sting fiercely as the rope digs itself into the wounds while pushing his legs between his arms, gangly limbs taught with effort. His hands are finally in front of him, wrist seeping red and staining his forearms.

There’s a piece of rope free, he can pull his wrist apart from one another for a short distance.

Drista shrieks again, a swear unheard by anyone who could have been near their prison, and Tommy doesn’t even think about his next move. The man has his back on him, yelling loudly, arm in a sweeping angle as if to throw a punch.

He launches himself forwards, rope still tying his bloody wrists as he throws his arms over the man’s head, the bit of loose rope becoming taut around the man’s neck as Tommy  _ pulls. _

The man hacks up in surprise, Drista can see the wide eyes as Tommy, with a look she had seen before on her friend, pulls the rope harder and harder against the man’s trachea, gurgling sounds coming from him as he desperately tries clawing at the teenager.

Tommy doesn’t let’s go, knuckles white as he holds onto the tiniest bit of rope. The man is tall but Tommy is taller, and while gangly and half starving, he’s pumped on adrenaline and raw anger. There are no thoughts other than keeping this man away from them and away from his friend, pulling even harder towards himself to the point of backing into the cobblestone wall of their cell, pushing against it as the man’s struggles become fainter and fainter.

There’s another gurgle, the man’s movements becoming sluggish as Tommy keeps the iron-like grip on the rope against his neck, and only after the man goes completely slack does he let go.

His wrist hurt, the rope digging into them painfully and leaving raw flesh exposed, hands trembling and skin an entire shade paler as he breathes. The man remains unmoving.

Drista looks at him, eyes wide and he swears he can see the faint trails of tears on her face. She’s pale, too, shaky. Carefully, she steps towards him, scared and swallowing bile. She’s scared, relieved. She wants her brother.

“You..” She swallows, and the blonde can easily pick up the wobble in her voice. “You killed him..”

“Wh…” Tommy breathes in deeply, still high on adrenaline, limbs shaking as he steps away from the body. The man’s face is almost dangerously blue, glassy eyes bulging slightly on their sockets, an expression of pure surprise and terror on his face.

Neck having the imprint of a rope, windpipe crushed.

Oh.

He killed a man. At sixteen. He’s killed a man.

Tommy walks over to Drista, and feels relief at seeing how his friend doesn’t flinches as he steps closer. “T-Turn around. I’ll untie you.”

The knots are still a bitch to get, but his hands are slightly more free and usable. The ropes binding the girl’s hands pool on the stone floor. Drista returns the favor, untying Tommy’s wrist, wincing at the sight of blood and injury as Tommy gives a pained hiss.

“We have to get out of here, alright?” He says, blood starting to dry on his skin, eyes pricking with unsheed tears of pain or fear or both, adrenaline fading slightly. “T-Take the ropes.”

Drista nods, the rope is long and she has to tie them at her waist like a belt around her dirty gown. Tommy walks over the dead man-- the man he’s killed, and focuses on looking only at the dagger on his hip, quickly undoing the scabbard and tying it against his own.

He feels sick. Sick, but also relieved.

_ (Has his family taken a life at his age? Had Phil? Wilbur? Techno? At they felt sick to their stomach, too?) _

“Let’s go.”


	2. Chapter 2

Their cell is dirty and damp and the above building is no better. The stench of alcohol is almost palpable among the gunpowder and sweat as their captors mingle about. Not a single soldier or mercenary is aware of the royal’s presence.

Tommy thanks whatever ruckus the drunken men had gotten into to ignore their shrill screeches and the gurgles of a dead man not even five minutes ago. 

Both he and Drista lay low, shaking and wide eyed. Tommy’s grip on the dagger is white-knuckled and shaky while ignoring the sting on his wrists, heart beating against his ribs as he stares at the group of kidnappers. How can a sixteen year old take out five drunken men without them noticing, or killing him for even trying?

Belatedly, he realises some of the men are missing. Five drunk on the verge of passing out, one of them dead on their cell, two of them nowhere to be seen.

Tommy prepares himself, stomach doing flips and tongue dry on his mouth. He has to get them out of that place and he has to protect Drista-- It’s his fault she’s here and even if it wasn't, it was his duty; he’s the eldest of the two. There’s no Techno or Wilbur or Dream to help, just him and Drista, and Drista is only  _ fourteen _ years old while he’s  _ sixteen _ and  _ he _ is the one who has had an actual education in weaponry and combat.

He has to do what his brothers would do. Taking a shaky breath, Tommy prepares himself to stab a man right in the eye. Maybe if he’s quick enough--

“Tommy!” Drista hisses at his side, tapping his arm with urgency as he turns towards her in a split second. She’s not looking at him, but at something at their side. “I think that door leads outside, the guy is asleep.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, feeling like breathing a sigh of relief for a split second. One guy, asleep. Thank the End. “Stay behind me, is it locked?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t see keys either..”

With a gulp, half scared out of his mind and riding on left over adrenaline, Tommy steps forwards the sleeping guard, crouching as if to not be seen.

The door is unlocked. Something must be smiling upon them after being kidnapped. Both children step outside, Tommy’s wounds leaving behind tiny spots of blood against the stone and later dirt and mud.

* * *

  
  


They’re lost.

So utterly, irredeemably lost. Not out of sheer idiocy or cockyness. No, the land itself is unknown to the teens, there’s not a speck of ice or snow or birch. The woods are tall, intimidating dark oak towering towards the night sky with fungi almost as tall, if not taller than the trees themselves. Moonlight barely peeking through the leaves.

How far away from the Antarctic Empire were they? How far away from the lands of the SMP?

Tommy and Drista don’t waste time, they run as soon as they leave the cobblestone outpost without looking back. Their hands are clammy as they hold onto the other, fingers entwined in an attempt to offer comfort but also a silent, mutual plea of  _ ‘don’t let go, I don’t want to be alone. Run with me, don’t stop, I won’t let them get you,’  _ as they put distance between themselves and their captors. The unnerving hisses and groans of mobs hiding in dark spots only quickening their pace, jumping over stones and logs and vines.

They don’t stop, even after their feet start hurting and lungs burning with each breath. The forest doesn’t end no matter how much they run, cold air stinging their eyes, stifling gasps eachtime a skeleton or a creeper comes too close for comfort, darting away from the danger like spooked animals.

Only when they absolutely can’t run anymore, body hurting and begging for a rest, do they stop. An abandoned den is their refuge for the night, made big enough to fit the two of them rather awkwardly with their bare hands. Both royals huddle together, weary-eyed and pale, hands stiff and hurting in their hold.

* * *

  
  


Tommy wakes up to someone roughly grabbing him by the hair, hard enough to startle a yell of pain and his scalp to bur.

He can smell alcohol and blood and his eyes widen at the sight of an iron axe pointed at the ground. The man’s snarl is ugly and promises torture, Tommy’s eyes burn with unshed tears as his heart hammers against his chest so hard he thinks he’ll break a rib or two because of it.

“Hidding like a fucking rat,” The man spits, his hold on the prince’s hair switching towards the neck, the hand is big enough to wrap around it fully. “After killing one of our own? Pathetic!”

“You’re the pathetic fuck if I could kill one of yours with my hands tied, bitch!” Tommy snarls in response, half panicky as his fight or flight instinct pulls against each option. 

He’s dragged outside the den, dirt on his wounds and knees before forcefully being pulled upwards, and with a start he realizes Drista is nowhere to be seen and panics settles fully in his head. Tommy only has a second to feel the ugly twist of panicked guilt on his stomach before the man pulls his fist back, and hits Tommy’s cheek with enough force to make him see dots for a few seconds, feeling a cut on his inner cheek and tasting copper. 

_ “Get the fuck off him!”  _

Vaguely, he recognizes the voice as he shakes off the shock and the pain. One second he’s seeing dots, and the next he can see the blur or green and light brown throw itself at his attacker’s back. Stabbing something onto his shoulder and making the man release Tommy, yelling in pain.

Only after recognizing the voice currently shrieking swears does Tommy snaps out of his pain-induced dizziness. His eyes focus and with a start he can see Drista, pale, her dress dirty with mud and dirt and face in a panicked snarl, clings to his attacker by the back. The dagger he had stolen back in the cell is clutched in her hand, blade stuck deeply into the man’s shoulder and staining the leather of his tunic red.

In a second, Drista is thrown into the ground with a squeal of pain, in a second the man turns around, not caring about his stab wound as he kicks the girl away, making her roll on the dirt.

In a second, Tommy is against his back, grasping the handle of the dagger and twisting as he makes the best effort to cling to the man’s back, free hand desperately scratching at his face with broken nails. The kidnapper screams as the blade digs further into his shoulder. Tommy forces it out, a spurt of blood coming from the wound as the man stumbles, before bringing the blade down once again.

And again.

And again.

The man trashes violently and manages to throw him off roughly, but the stab wounds on his chest are deep and bleeding, making his movements slow and breath laboured. Tommy ignores this, still gripping the handle of the bloodied dagger before sheathing back into its scabbard. Drista is already on her feet, clutching her stomach with an arm and sucking in pained breaths. Her hands are stained with dirt and specks of blood.

“Dris, c’mon.” Tommy mutters, fighting his own trembling hands to grab Drista’s free one. His hand is sticky with blood, neither comment on it. “He’s dying. C’mon, we gotta run.”

The man staggers towards them, weapon at the ready but slipping from his fist as both teens take steps back before running away, past the dying man and the den. Neither of them spares a glance backward.

If tears prickle at the corner of their eyes, neither of them make a job of pointing it out, blinking a couple of times to clear them away.

They’ve been kidnapped, smuggled End knows where. Tommy has killed two people, Drista has seen two men die in front of her eyes.

They want to go home. 

Tommy blinks away his panicked tears, ignores the fearful realization he has killed two men in the span of a night, and promises himself he’ll take them back to their homes no matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year :^)
> 
> Decided to continue. This story most likely won't be very long.  
> Chapters will include some level of violence but also some comfort because oh damn, these children lost their innocence in murder.
> 
> Tommy is taking the role of an older brother. Or how he thinks an older brother would do their role. His dad is Philza "the angel of death" Minecraft, and his brothers Wilbur "admin" Soot and Technoblade the Blood God. Mans has a bloodthristy, family, go figure. 
> 
> Drista is spunky but also just a 14 year old and Dream sheltered her quite a bit. Can she defend herself? Absolutely. Is she capable of murder? Nah.


	3. Chapter 3

Tommy and Drista don’t stop for long after escaping, their breaks are quick enough to catch their breaths and run again, but even then their bodies are tired and hungry and can’t keep up for long. They move ahead in quick, brisk walks, hiding among the forest and enchanted fungi around them .

There are no footsteps behind them, no yells and no threats. The anxiety over their shoulder lifts only slightly, enough to at least not fear separation as they stop holding bloodied hands together, walking in tense silence that’s broken by the faint buzz of bugs and a riverbank not far from there. The realization of how sore and raw their throats are pushes them forwards towards the running water.

“Water!” Tommy almost wants to faint with relief seeing the clear river. Fish periodically swim against the current, and it’s barely deep enough to reach their knees if they decided to cross it. “Fucking _finally!_ ”

“Tommy--” Drista starts, but is interrupted by her own patchy throat before shrugging off her worry. Sure, the water looked clear enough and clean, but there was still doubt if it was drinkable, however her own thirst powered through her thoughts as she got closer. “Nevermind..”

They drink for a few minutes, enough to quench thirst and stave off hunger for the time being. They’re half tempted to get something to eat, something that isn’t mulch or stale bread now forgotten in their broken cell, but the anxiety of staying still for too long fights against their desire for sustenance and shelter.

“This river should lead somewhere, right?” The princess finally asks, looking at the salmon swimming against the clear current. “I mean, salmon swim towards the sea, right?”

“Uh,” Tommy blinks, water dribbling from his chin for a second. “I think? Wait, no. Wilbur told me this, salmon swim upstream to rivers, and return to the sea with the current.”

The both stay quiet, and look towards the direction the river’s currents point at. The stream disappears in the distance among the forest with the promise of uncertainty. 

“The sea..” 

“It’s probably our best option?”

Drista nods, biting her lower lip. “Probably. I have no idea where we are so at least there should be like, a port or a village or something. People should be looking for us, right?”

“Depends what kind of people,” Tommy mutters, a heavy feeling settling on their shoulders once again as he submerges his hands into the river, hissing at the sting that flares up on his wounded wrists.

“You did a number on yourself,” Drista mumbles, and Tommy huffs in annoyance as he tries to wipe away the dirt and blood from his hands and arms. The wounds on his wrists are still raw and marred by dirt. “Damn.”

“Well, you know me; can’t keep still even if these bitches tied me down.” He replies, wincing as the water clouds with the slightest of pinks as the wounds bleed again after a scrub. “It worked though.”

“Yeah…” She trails off, and Tommy can see how her fingers twitch from the corner of his eyes. “Wait,”

“Hm?”

A ripping sound, Tommy turns towards Drista with confusion written all over his face. The SMP princess is tearing strips of the skirt of her dress, throwing away the mud-covered bits before ripping still. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Helping. Besides it’s annoying running with the dress being so long. I’m dragging everything.” The girl mumbles, taking one of the strips of cloth and carefully folding it before dunking it in the river. The dress skirt is still dirty and slightly torn, but at least it ends almost at her calf rather than dragging on leaves.

Drista lets the fabric soak up as much water as possible before going next to Tommy, taking one of his arms and dabbing at the wounds. Tommy hisses at the touch, wrists tender and stinging still, but doesn’t pulls away.

“Fucking hurts.”

“Don’t be a baby Tommy.”

“Am not! It really fucking stings.”

“Hm,”

They remain in silence for a while, Drista methodically taking her time cleaning away the dirt on the wounds, reopening scabs in the effort of keeping everything clean and keeping the small specks of blood at bay. 

“You’re really quiet Dris,” Tommy interrupts, wincing only slightly when the girl puts a bit more pressure on his wrist, bandaging with a strip of --mostly, clean green cloth. “You okay?”

“Yes,” Drista shrugs, lips in a thin line as she ties the makeshift bandage in a knot around Tommy’s clean wrist, about to do the same to the other. “No? I don’t know,”

“How can you not know?”

“I don’t know! I don’t want to think about it, alright? I’m pretty sure I’ll start crying if I think about..” Drista closes her eyes, and takes a shaky breath as she ties another knot onto the new bandage. “I should be asking you that question actually.”

“What?”

“Are you okay? No-- I don’t mean the wrists, I’m taking care of them so that’s okay. But...back there.”

“Ah,” The killing, she means the killings. Tommy feels his stomach doing awful flips as he pushes back the memory of a man’s gurgling, struggling last breath as he crushed his windpipe, and the raw adrenaline coming from stabbing a dagger in flesh over and over again. “I’ll be fine,”

“Tommy--”

“I’ll be fine, alright?!” Tommy snaps, wincing again when Drista purposefully ties a hard knot on his new bandage, hissing through gritted teeth. “Don’t worry about it. I’m a huge man, Drista, I’ll be okay.”

And while before the answer would’ve been taken with humor, Drista only narrows her eyes at him, voice small and wavering as she asks, “Will you?”

“Gotta be.”

His wounds are cleaned and bandaged. Pangs of hunger gone for the time being, both royals walk down the river’s stream. There’s nothing else they can do.

* * *

  
  


The Antarctic Empire is in frantic disarray.

The youngest prince is gone. No clue left behind on his disappearance.

Phil, the emperor, shouts orders towards his guards and soldiers and search parties are sent off across the country, slowly but surely, to try to retrieve the young prince. There are meetings with the SMP Kingdom-- which doesn’t fare better, their youngest princess having banished as well.

Dream is in an almost crazed state of disbelief and anger and worry, borderline blaming the Empire only to meet the harsh glare of Wilbur, second youngest prince and royal advisor to the Antarctic land. His sister disappeared alongside the Prince, just as they snuck out Gods knew where.

There are rumors of Prince Tommy running away on his own volition, or Princess Drista convincing him into trouble as per usual. More crueler, realistic ideas were that the both royals were kidnapped-- a theory much closer to reality and closely investigated by the grieving Emperor and King, already promising pain towards whoever would have dared to take the smallest members of their family.

Some kinder, more wishful theories are of Prince Tommy and Princess Drista running away together; elopement. The idea is so absurd it’s easily brushed off. They were children, clueless, boisterous children with a taste for trouble. Let the peasants romanticize an act of war towards the country and the pain of the royal families, the idea is almost insulting and sends the royal family into pained hysterics.

Philza wants his youngest son, his baby, back. Technoblade and Wilbur want back their baby brother.

Dream swears, consulting with George and Sapnap and Bad. They want their baby sister back.

A continent away from the empire, two children try to find their way, innocence fragmented after days forced away from their home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danger lurks in every corner. They notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filler chapter because I Cannot Type and I am heavily trying to ignore the DSMP for the time being for SBI  
> Next one will move plot

The journey down the river is unnervingly quiet.

There is no sight of armored men with unknown banners anywhere, no smoke to signal outposts or sounds of clinking chainmail. The sounds of the river and the salmon splashing about every now and again are the only constant alongside the faint whistle of wind between leaves.

It’s quiet, and safe, and scary because of it.

Tommy and Drista struggle with the lull of safety, walking slowlier and raising their voices just slightly when they had to talk, flinching whenever a fox screamed in the distance or a rabbit stepped over a branch or dry leaves. The possibility of being found again, of someone taking them again, running rampant against the magical stillness of the forest.

Belatedly, Tommy grabs the dagger. It’s still sheathed in the scabbard by his hip, blade free of blood after dunking it in the river. He watches as the water becomes the slightest pink and the current washed away the fluid, refusing to touch it.

“I’m so tempted to just get a salmon and eat it,” Drista mumbles absentmindedly, and Tommy admits he shares the sentiment, “I’m so damn hungry.”

“We can’t risk a campfire,” He reminds her, and ignores how Drista huffs in annoyance. “Maybe we can find berries, or..”

“Can we eat the mushrooms? I mean, they’re really big so maybe a bite..?”

Tommy blinks, trying his hardest to remember the many lessons in the castle’s library, “Uh,”

“They don’t look poisonous. The brown ones are button mushrooms but...on steroids, or something. Not sure about the red ones..”

“I’m gonna be honest Drista, I have no idea about mushrooms, like, at all.”

“I just want a hot meal, I’d even eat that gross beetroot soup Bad makes..” The princess mumbles almost mournfully, trying to shake away the memory of food. 

They keep walking slowly, feet aching with each step and forcing them to take quick breaks in between to get some sort of reprieve. The thick leaves among treetops is enough to thankfully cover the harsh sunlight that would’ve hit them, and the lack of pursuit is enough incentive to take a moment for themselves, mouths almost watering while searching and finding wild sweet berries among prickly bushes, their stomachs growling with each bite, making them eat faster, staining their mouths and hands with juices.

The pinkish trail left in the water is faint and different than blood, Tommy notices with a small amount of relief.

“Nightfall is coming,” Tommy mumbles, looking at the sky. The faint traces of it between leaves is painted with warm oranges and pinks. “Let’s try to find somewhere to sleep, before mobs come.”

“Before anything comes,” Drista corrects, and Tommy huffs in annoyance but silently agrees with her. “And I’m vetoing a den.”

“Hey! It was a good idea!”

“Yeah, but cramped! And dirty! Let’s try to find a cave or..”

“Not caves,” The blond shakes his head, the vivid memory of camping with Techno and Wilbur jumping at the front, remembering the growls of zombies hidden in the dark. “They’ll only bring mobs, or will cover them once the sun is up. I don’t want to wake up with an undead dickhead chewing on my arms.”

“Like there’s anything to chew,” Drista quips, earning a friendly, gentle push. “Fine, no caves. What then?”

They both look around for any sight of shelter, neither wanting to sleep in a den by the dirt and mud, the caves holding only a promise of danger in their depths and leaving them with very little choice in the matter of safety. There’s nothing in sight other than the river, bushes and trees so tall and bushy they can easily hide the sun.

“That tree has a hollow entrance there,” Tommy points out, looking at one nearby, tall tree by them. The trunk is thick and free of sap, bark peeling only a little. A bit farther up, a hollowed, withered away nest opening greets them. It was big enough to fit them if they crawled.

“You want to sleep there? Are we even going to fit?”

“Let’s check,”

There’s a squeak of protest from Drista at first, but she just huffs as Tommy begins climbing the tree, grabbing onto bark and knobs for a good few seconds, pulling himself up at a rather decent, if wobbly pace. It’s like climbing the walls of the castle garden before running all the way towards the nearest village, or climbing the abandoned farm building he and Tubbo claimed as their hang out spot when skipping royal meetings.

Belatedly, he thinks of Tubbo, and a heavy feeling settles on his stomach. Tubbo was in his Kingdom, safe. But if someone had taken two royals, would they ever go after a third?

He almost misses a branch, grasping at air for a second before finding wood. Tommy curses under his breath, forcing himself to settle the worry at the very back of his head and focusing on the current task at hand; finding shelter so that he and Drista didn’t die that same night.

“Be careful Tommy!” Drista calls out, and Tommy huffs in annoyance but gives an affirmative as reply. “How does it look?”

“Almost there!” He hisses, grabbing onto another branch while pulling himself up. The wounds on his wrists flare up for a second under the wrappings, but he ignores it in favor of focusing on another far branch. “This fucking tree is bigger than I thought, holy shit.”

It is, and by the time Tommy reaches the hollowed part of the trunk he’s catching his breath, hissing as the scabs on his tender wrists open slightly. 

The inside of the trunk is decently sized, a knob of hollow wood rather than a nest like he had thought it could be. It’s dark and slightly stuffy, but empty and dry and away from the ground, perfect to stay away from the wandering mobs that will lurk in a matter of hours.

“Uh, it’s kinda cramped, not gonna lie.” Tommy says. Drista will most likely be alright hunching or crawling, but he’d definitely have to crawl to fit in the little nest-like spot. “But it should be alright.”

“Cool, alright.” Drista sighs, and a slight weight lifts from her shoulders as she approaches the trunk, already grasping bark and knobs to climb up herself. She hisses in annoyance as the skirt of the dress becomes trapped in small, pointed bits of dried bark and the fabric hinders her movements. “Oh, come on--”

“Can you climb?” 

“Yes! But the damn dress--!” She growls, huffing a breath before looking up at Tommy, jumping down the small distance she had climbed and kicking the dirt. “Let me just do something--”

She unties the rope around her waist, undoing the loops and letting an end fall on the ground. Tommy had almost forgotten about it, and looks at the item with distaste. “Forgot about that.”

“Same,” she mumbles, “but now it should be useful. I’ll throw it to you and you can tie it to the branch so I can climb.”

“Sure.” He nods, then as afterthought, he adds, “Hey! Tie like, a rock or something to the end before you throw, to make it easier.”

Drista looks around, jogging towards the river a bit to the side and grabbing a round, flat stone before tying the rope around it. A makeshift hook is made in a minute.

She arcs her arm, the rope in a lasso-like movement before letting go of one end. The bit with the rock tied flies upwards, hitting the trunk with a dull sound as both teenagers groan, trying twice again before the rope manages to hit somewhere near their hiding spot, Tommy lurching down on the branch, hand grabbing the rope before it could fall again and tying the end around the thick branch, holding onto for extra support.

“Okay, got it! Can you climb?”

“Uh, give me a minute!”

Tommy watches as his friend goes back to the river, near some bushes before grabbing what he thought were stones and berries, holding them into a little pocket in her dirty dress before coming back, jumping to grab onto the loose end of the rope just barely, climbing up almost at a snail’s pace.

He holds the other end of the rope, the knots are still tied and standing, but just in case, he holds on. The rope holds on, thankfully, and Tommy helps Drista on the branch as soon as she’s within grabbing distance, both holding each other's arms while trying to maintain balance, inching closer towards the hollowed knob.

“This is cramped as hell.”

“You’re telling me,” Tommy mutters, holding the rope and untying the knots as Drista crawls into their nest-like refuge. Once the rope is in his hands Tommy crawls back in as well. “This tree wasn’t made for me.”

“Mother Nature denies your rights,” The princess jokes, laughing at the annoyed huff she gets in return. “I got some berries, and rocks.”

“Why rocks?”

“To throw,” She replies, as if it were the dumbest question asked, “we should be safer in here, for the most part. But what if we see mobs in the morning? We can throw these and lure them away, I think.”

Tommy blinks, he...hadn’t thought about that little detail, to be quite honest. “Smart,”

They both huddle against bark, the space is cramped and they have to sit to the point their legs are almost touching. Drista has less of a problem, being a bit on the short end. Tommy though, he has to hunch slightly while still sitting, arching uncomfortably and still managing to touch the dry bark with his head.

The nest is uncomfortable, and a bit small-- even if it fit two teenagers inside. The only ‘comfort’ available were the berries Drista had picked up before climbing up, serving as a measly dinner for them.

Sunlight slowly stops coming through leaves, the sky painting itself with golden light fading into purples and blues. The moon can barely be seen, pale beams leaving the faintest of light in the forest. Looking out, they can’t see the stars, covered by dark leaves and fungi.

A groan echoes through the forest, followed by footsteps and rattling bones; mobs finally taking their cue to hunt and wander without the threat of the sun. For a single second, the hissing of a spider is heard too close to comfort from their nest, most likely climbing down on the other side of the trunk before disappearing.

Both royals curl up on the ground, making themselves as small as possible while trying to keep a distance from the exposed entrance. They’re jumpy and scared awake, but the sounds never get closer than by the base of the tall tree, and after a while all the chittering, snarling and rattling serves as a grim background noise.

They sleep, fingers almost touching the other’s arm.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Night passes in flashes of hisses and water against rocks. Tommy wakes up first out of habit, used to spending the first hours of a morning trying to catch Technoblade sparring before breakfast or listening to one of Wilbur’s melodies as the sun rises.

His back is in pain, joints popping as he tries to stretch and hissing when his head hits against rough wood. Drista is still asleep, curled up on herself, less uncomfortable than him but still trying to make herself as small as possible in their already cramped space. Tommy sighs, rubs at his eyes to try get the sleep out and watches as spots dance in front of him.

“Hey, Dris..” He tries at first, voice rough with tiredness and shaking the younger royal’s shoulder gently. “Ey,”

Another shake, and Tommy is about to talk loudly when something catches his attention.

Voices.

His mouth shuts with an audible ‘click’, almost dropping down entirely on the little nest and hesitantly poking his head out of the hollow trunk. He can barely make out what people are saying, and struggles to find words among the far away, but quickly closing in garbles.

“Of course they’re still looking,” He mumbles with as much venom and possible, mixed with a healthy dose of fear. The dagger he had stolen the day before burns a hole in its sheath by his waist. “Fuckin’ of course,”

When the first few men appear from between the trees, he hides. Tommy can recognize the same men from the outpost, with the same unknown crests on their armor and shields and looking half rabid while trying to scout them out. No doubt, they are looking for him and Drista, and feeling bloodthirsty after the stunt Tommy pulled back there.

Fear running through his veins, Tommy drops low, instinctively grabbing for the dagger’s handle while trying to peer down towards the river. The group is crouching, talking among themselves, and with a startled, shocked gasp he realizes they’re looking at footsteps.

Their footsteps.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, shit,” He panics, crouching again inside the little hideout. His movement is enough to wake up Drista, mumbling a less than pleased good morning before Tommy covers her mouth with his hand, earning a startled, annoyed gasp from the Princess.

“Shh!” He hisses between clenched teeth, “They’re down there!”

Drista blinks, sleep gone from her eyes in less than a second before nodding. Tommy removes his hand, trying to peer back down again before she hastily grabs at his dirty suit, pulling him back. “Quit that!”

“Are you stupid?!” Drista hisses, pressing herself against the farthest corner of the nest, trying to drag Tommy along by the shirt, “they don’t know we’re here! Stay in!”

“We fucked up!” He replies back, “Out footsteps, they saw, they--”

A sharp whistle cuts them off, their heads snapping towards the sound, eyes wide and not daring to get closer towards the exit. There’s some barely understandable mumbling coming from somewhere down the ground, discussing something with rough voices full of anger and malice.

“They’re looking for us,” Drista mumbles, barely above a whisper. Tommy nods at her, both of them looking directly at the bits of forest visible from their standpoint. “They’re not giving up and they’re still looking for us,”

It was so much more terrifying, saying it out loud. 

They stay quiet for a few more seconds, listening to the footstep on fallen leaves and the river flowing gently. White-knuckled, Tommy’s grip on the dagger grows stiff and begins hurting, hand clamming up as one of the men shouts out in alarm.

Startled, they realize the shout is one of pain, and Tommy dares the risk of peeking out of their refuge for curiosity’s sake, ignoring Drista’s angry hissing to get back.

The whistle had attracted attention, or perhaps just the sheer number of the group, seven armored men with clinking chainmail, after all, it was bound to get noisy. The trees and mushrooms were so tall they easily covered the sun, easily giving protection to the night creatures lumbering about.

Said creatures were easily alerted by the noise, and Tommy, with grim realization, watches on as a skeleton, still sporting strips of cloth and tendons, readies its bow towards the men. An arrow sticking out from someone’s shoulder, weapons drawn.

The steady growling of mobs came forth from the forest, Tommy’s eyes widening at the sight of things that used to be people dragging their feet in clumsy steps, groaning and snarling towards the armored men. He could see how flesh exposed to the very faint sunbeams peeking from between leaves burned and sizzled, but the zombies were unable to feel pain, only creeping closer to the loud group.

The blond crawls back into the hideout, eyes wide, listening to the many shouts and rattling groans somewhere under them. Drista, wide eyed, remains silent as something splashes in the river, snarls and clinking chainmail fading from hearing distance.

“We need to get the fuck off this forest,” Tommy mutters, back against the wood. Both teenagers are wide eyed, tight lipped and breathing slowly. Their captors weren’t the only danger to hide from anymore, they realized a bit too late, after hiding in the perfect place mobs could hide away from the sun, waiting for unfortunate people to step in.

People like them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The youngests royals have the frail illusion of safety for the time being, and it shatters immediately putting two and two together.
> 
> Meanwhile, Emperor Philza and King Dream find a third, grim perspective and hopefully a lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe I actually have some sort of plot thought of for this now?  
> Also tags will change from time to time. I want to add more character tags once they've become important for the story orz

The Empire is in a frenzy, for answers, for blood, whichever came first. The youngest Prince was taken away without a single warning, and the royal family was left to try and piece together the puzzle of his kidnapping.

Phil walks down the halls for what feels the third time since morning, ignoring the feeble, worried glances his guards give him with each passing step. They understand the worry, but it comes from a place of titles and ranks rather than a familial bond; He’s not a King mourning a Prince but a father looking for his son.

There are no signs of immediate treason or messages for ransom or, Aether forbid, warnings in blood, the Empire stays almost the same in an unsettling manner, buzzing with life veiled in uncertainty after Tommy’s disappearance. 

“He always did like sneaking out,” Phil mumbles with dampered amusement, voice resigned as he rubs at his eyes with his hand, willing away the need to sleep. How could he sleep, knowing Tommy was somewhere out there? “God damnit.”

And not only Tommy, but Princess Drista as well had been taken. It was more than easy to rule out the SMP Kingdom trying to mess with their treaty, Dream is still a step away from raising hell trying to find his sister, younger than even his own son, in more danger due to being a subject for the Crown should the current King, Dream himself, be unable to take the mantle.

He doesn’t know if the target was Tommy or Drista, both being taken at the same time-- both having snuck out from the Castle’s walls and into Gods know where to be rambunctious teenagers, away from duties and lessons. It doesn’t make the job of finding out _ who _ took them or  _ why _ any easier.

Shaking his head, the Emperor turns a corner and mindlessly enters a room to hold meetings with soldiers and Princes and Kings. He can see King Dream with his advisors and General discussing something by a far corner in hushed, worried voices. King Schlatt is already seated, flanked by two soldiers and an advisor as well, looking at everyone with a calculating look and lips in a thin line.

Phil’s sons, Technoblade and Wilbur, are quietly discussing something by his seat, tense and worried since the second they noticed Tommy wasn’t in the castle days ago.

With the weight of the world on his shoulders, Phil takes a seat at the head of the table. The rest in the room follow his mantle and sit as well. The mood is grim and tense, silence so sharp one could hear the maids bustling around the ground floor from there.

“There are no witnesses in or near the Empire about any sort of hostile presence or shady deals. A raid party was sent towards the docks to check the cargo vessels under suspicion of trafficking, but it came out empty handed.” Wilbur speaks up first, informing everyone at the table. His own voice sounds tight and bitter. “Search parties have returned without news, as well as scouts. The latest squad was sent off about an hour ago.”

A wave of disappointment hits the entire room at once, King Dream’s shoulders slump slightly. His advisor clears his throat, reporting.

“Search parties have been sent through the SMP Kingdom as well, soldiers haven’t reported suspicious activity, and the borders have been quiet lately. We’ve moved to ask nearby villages for information but so far nothing helpful has come to light.”

King Schlatt’s advisor continues next, “The Kingdom of Manberg has sent search parties in our land and by the borders, but nothing has come across as suspicious. There are no reports on the borders yet, and squads will be moved around villages to verify information.”

“So, still nothing new.” Phil declares, voice laced with poorly concealed defeat and anger. “Any messages?”

“None,”

“No.”

The meeting room stays still for a few seconds, each King carefully trying to decipher what to do next.

“We should make sure to double check the villages at the borders,” George mutters, earning a quick nod from Wilbur and Quackity. “Maybe they’re still in the land.”

“By Aether, I hope they are.” Dream mutters, his usual mask pulled to the side to reveal tired green eyes. “Two kids in a go.”

“This was planned, we just need to figure out who did it.” Technoblade replies, his voice is stoic and tight, and while deadpan, his family could hear the raw anger behind it. 

“Right,” 

“Have you checked your treaties lately?” Schlatt breaks the terse silence, earning the attention of everyone on the table. “Two royals in a single go, from allied Kingdoms. Either someone is trying to put the Antarctic Empire and the SMP against each other, or this is a double vendetta”

“We’ve had only positive dealings with the neighboring Kingdoms the past five years! Who would..” George trails off, staring at a wall while muttering. Wilbur’s eyes narrow at this, thinking.

“Doesn’t means people aren’t any less fucked up and won’t try it,”

“Language.” One of King Dream’s advisors mutters, Schlatt ignores him.

“The Hermits have been in a good relationship with the Empire for the past four years. Nether’s sake, Tommy idolizes Prince Grian.”

“Drista doesn’t particularly care about the Hermits, but our Kingdom has had a treaty with them for almost three years now.”

“Don’t rule them out yet,” Schlatt advises, and earns the slight glare of some soldiers and princes. Emperor Phil and King Dream look at him with utmost seriousness. “You never know when will someone stab you in the back,”

“Should we consider you, as well?” Dream asks, and the tension in the room suddenly shifts and becomes nearly unnerving.

“Dream!” Phil gently admonishes, using the same tone he’d do with his own sons. It doesn't help that Dream is the same age as his twins. “King Schlatt has been nothing but helpful, we’ve had our treaties for more than a decade now.”

“And we’ve only had a treaty for the past two years, between the SMP and Manberg,” 

“Bold words, Dream. And good thinking! But my Kingdom has nothing to do with this and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t imply otherwise,” The ram hybrid replies, voice with fake cheer.

“Question, where is your General, Schlatt?”

The Ram King’s eyes narrow, looking at Dream’s general with a withering look, “Cara is staying behind in the Castle looking after Tubbo and Lani. You understand, the youngests royals from allied Kingdoms gone missing? We’re taking precautions,”

“Understandable,” Phil murmurs, nodding at the King with silent approval. “How are they holding up?”

And at this Schlatt sighs, rubbing his temple. “..It’s not easy to tell your kids their friends were kidnapped, and that they have to be extra careful now. Tubbo wants to help with the search and I’ve bound him to the Castle for the time being.”

The silence is sad, for a few seconds. Tommy and Tubbo were childhood friends, born only months after one another. Of course, the news would hit the Manberg Prince rather hard.

“Double check the borders of each Kingdom, including villages and docks. Anyone with reliable information will be rewarded in gold.” Phil finishes, standing up once again and ready to leave the room. “Be on the lookout for anything suspicious, including messages.”

Everyone nods, Schlatt and Quackity turn towards each other, Dream and his advisors discuss once again, and the Emperor can pick up the distress from the young king’s voice. His own sons follow him outside, flanking him as he closes the door and walks into the long, lone hallway.

“I’ll be scouting again,” Techno announces, voice firm and monotone, “I’ll try to be back by tomorrow.”

“I’ll check the reports in the meantime.” Wilbur sighs, rubbing his temple, “There’s fucking nothing yet,”

“We’ll find them.” Phil assures, looking forwards and not letting his voice waver. His youngest son is somewhere out there, alongside a Princess younger than even him, it’s a scary thought. “One way or another, we will.”

“I’ll deal with whoever is behind this.” Techno promises, and the wave of bloodlust coming from him is shared by his family. “Blood for the Blood God.”

“Leave some for the rest.”

* * *

  
  
  


Tommy and Drista’s morning is filled with dread and quiet gasps, looking around the dark wood forest with thin veiled dread and listening to the many sounds of creatures hiding in the dark of caves and leaves and dens.

There are no more pursuits, thankfully. The men are scared by waves of mobs after mobs and run off with groans, snarls and arrows following their steps. The clumsy gait of the undead covered their tracks nicely by the river, and their muddied footsteps were completely torn away in the riverbank by the time they climbed down the tree trunk that served as refuge. A lucky break, but not a safe one.

They use the rope to get down quicker, Tommy first, making sure nothing pops out from bushes or behind trunks, dagger at the ready. Drista follows his lead sliding down, jumping at the last bit of rope before the blond tugs at it harshly; the knot on the branch comes off after two tugs, and the rope is once again tied around Drista’s waist like a loose belt.

“C’mon,” Tommy mumbles, both ignoring their hunger in favor of continuing walking. There’s no echo of groans or hisses, but their trek doesn’t become less stressful without them; constantly looking over their shoulders, sticking together. Tommy’s grip on the dagger is tight and firm even if it feels his heart is beating on his throat, constantly feeling the phantom of something about to tear at his skin.

He wonders, what would his brothers do.

_ ‘They would fight tooth and nail’, _ Tommy thinks, remembering Techno’s raw strength and Wilbur’s sharp accuracy.  _ ‘They wouldn’t get scared, they would lead.’ _

He tries his best to be like them, for himself and his friend. He got them in this situation and he would get them out one way or another. 

“I hate the woods,” Drista says suddenly, her voice soft and veiled with slight annoyance. “Dream used to take me to the woods to look at the deer when I was little, he got us lost for like half a day.”

“I never could really go into the woods,” Tommy reminicents, willing to entertain the chat. His shoulders slip slightly from the tension in them. “It was too cold and Dad wouldn’t let me go, probably thought I’d bring back a polar bear or something.”

“Would you have brought back a polar bear?”

The prince hums for a few seconds, and grins in a way full of mischief. “Fuck yeah. Polar bear cub, I’d make it my pet and it would obey me when it grew up.”

“Bet it would eat you,”

“Nah, it would eat the people who piss me off. On command.”

It feels natural, to just joke around as they walk. For a second, both can pretend they’re just hanging out back in their Kingdoms, sneaking around town while evading a lesson or another royal meeting, the biggest risk being a guard finding them and sending them back towards a stuffy ballroom or a gigantic library. The imagery is almost soothing, but broken by the sting of hunger in their stomachs and the bruises on their skin.

They walk without stopping, water starving away hunger pains from time to time, and covering their steps with rocks and leaves before going back over the grass. Despite the situation, they’re incredibly lucky having gotten away so far as they have, and both realize how hazardous the situation could have been had they done something different; had they not hid in the trees, or had Drista not found a discarded dagger, or had Tommy not killed their jailer back in the outpost.

Stomping onto the grim memory, Tommy huffs an annoyed sigh and walks over a thick tree root. The river they follow seems almost never ending, but he can tell some difference in the woods; the trees clearing oddly, mushrooms being not as tall as the other side, almost as if regrowing. 

It takes both teenagers about a few hours to find something, finally giving in to hunger and stepping away from the river to find more berries or roots to eat-- still wary about the idea of lighting a fire and calling attention to themselves. The woods are still thick around them-- not as much as before, but enough to hide the cobblestone structures and dirty, brown stained glass from what could only be described as houses, only finding them thanks to a lucky trip.

For a minute, they both stare at the clearly abandoned homes with disbelief, throats dry and eyes wide as they take in what could have once been a village. The entirety of it is almost buried in vines and trees and moss, fungi growing around the cobble and damp mud, smaller than the usual shrooms they had seen so far. The doors on almost every house is ajar, rotting away or simply off its hinges, windows smashed and dirty and nature crawling its way inside.

Neither royal is sure what to do, Tommy watching every corner with bated breath, Drista trying to listen for anything that isn’t the gentle rustle of leaves in the wind. Only after minutes of nothing do their shoulders relax and dare breathe once again.

“Holy shit,” Tommy breathes in disbelief, looking at the rotting homes hidden in vines and moss, “What the hell is this?”

“Houses.” Drista replies, flatly, but the thought of making fun of Tommy is easily pushed away as they both walk towards what could have once been a storage house. “They’re...abandoned.”

“But  _ why _ ?”

Drista shrugs, and peeks inside the closest house. The door is rotting and faint light filters through the cracks of the wood, enough for the inside of what she could guess was a living room. “I dunno, maybe they realized the huge forest blocking the sun isn’t the best living spot.”

“Or maybe something drove them away.” The prince mutters with sarcasm and a hint of worry. 

They both simply stare at the buildings before Drista, gently, takes a hold of the doorknob from a rotting door, and without any hint of pressure the entrance gives away, hinges cracking and snapping. Tommy and Drista take a step backwards as dust floats in the air, not a single sound coming after the ruckus, signaling that they truly are alone in the abandoned ruins of a village.

The insides of the house are dusty, floorboards creaking under their steps and some of them rotting away with moss and mushrooms growing at the corners. Whatever furniture is inside lays with a thick layer of dust on top, untouched by months or years of abandonment, window panels dirty and covered in stains of something, fingerprints left behind.

Tommy explores, his dagger at the ready even if it’s obvious no one has set foot inside the rundown house. Drista opens the cabinets of the small house, wrinkling her nose at the smell of dampness and something rotting, shuffling the contents to the side to peek.

“There’s nothing much here,” She mumbles, then perks up slightly. “Hey, there’s honey jars!”

Tommy sighs, his stomach rumbles at the promise of something other than berries. “I’d kill for glazed salmon.”

“This house has a kitchen, we could get salmon from the river and with the honey we can just...cook it..”

They’re  _ starving _ . They both know, and the lingering danger of fire and smoke and the attention it could bring sways at the promise of a warm meal and a full stomach for the first time in days. Surely, the kitchen is standing, the village is run down and hidden between mushrooms and trees as tall as the sun, away from the naked eye. Maybe they could just..

“Fine,” Tommy nods, sighing and sniffling as dust gets around him. “Let’s clear out this place and then try to find a fishing rod, or a spear. I’m fucking tired of berries.”

It would’ve been almost funny, just dusting things off and trying to find useful things while exploring, as if having a normal day instead of having run away from kidnappers only a few days ago. The kitchen is usable but most things in the cabinets are rotten or inedible, the furniture is a nightmare and sitting on the floor will be safer than on the chairs. The knives and utensils are dull and rusty with very little exception. Still, the first floor is safe.

There’s no fishing rod, so both royals struggle to make a makeshift spear out of a thick wooden branch and tie the dagger at one of the ends. It’s flimsy, laughable and kind of pathetic, but it does the job after a few tries at the river. They cheer as Tommy proudly displays the still flailing salmon impaled on the blade, and as daylight burns, they try to make the best out of what they have and cook the fish with the left-over coal on the ratty kitchen stove after a choppy job of gutting the fish and tearing away the scales.

Still, as their first source of warm food cooks, Tommy and Drista explore the second floor. It’s just as dusty as the first floor, and dark, with stained curtains blocking the light from entering the already suffocating rooms. The beds are in disarray and covered in dust and cobweb, shoes thrown on the floor and personal items everywhere. 

“What happened in this village?” Drista mumbles, wiping the dirt from a book, a diary most likely, and frowning. 

“I’m not sure if I wanna find out,” Tommy replies, just as quiet. He carefully goes through a half empty chest, and sighs in relief finding something actually useful; leather vests and boots and a handful of gold nuggets. “They left shit behind though, nice.”

“Another man’s trash.” Drista mocks, and gets a gentle shove for it. “It’s good at least.”

“Mhmm,” The blond hums, then frowns a little at seeing a map at the very bottom of the chest. Fiddling with it, Tommy quickly spreads the map around, the growing hope of finally finding where they were fading with each second. The more he tried to find anything in the map, the more unnerved he became.

“Shit,” He mumbles again, voice being a hiss more than a hum. “Shit, shit, what the fuck?”

“What?” Drista asks, frowning and going to his side, trying to peek at the map Tommy was swearing over. “Crap, are we far away from cities?”

“We’re..” Tommy bites back a curse, voice pitching high in disbelief and fear and fury. “We’re in another _ fucking continent _ .”

The lightheartedness in Drista shatters. She quickly takes the map, finding the cardinals right away, but drawing blanks at the name of what could’ve been cities and towns and mountains. Some of them were written in a language she could barely read, and the dot of what could be their current location was minuscule against a nowhere forest. “There’s no way. There’s no damn way. How did they-- how did they get us here? There’s no way we’re in another continent! That could’ve taken  _ weeks! _ ”

They’ve been taken for less than that time. But a lot of those days were spent unconscious, drugged up and barely coherent to snarl insults and drink water. Tommy vaguely remembers waking up a handful of times, the glow of fire under his fingertips and air so warm it was hard to breathe.

“The Nether.” He whispers, grim realization dawning on him. It fits with the time and distance, and it rings alarm bells all over his head. “They got us here through the Nether.”

“Nether-travel.” Drista gasps, realization dawning on her as well. “How the hell did they get us through the Nether?! Who--Who could’ve had a Nether portal?!”

Nether portals were, after all, a rarity. Only the strongest warriors and the bravest monarchs had access to nether portals. Sure, some of them could’ve been made illegally, but the danger of collapse and things from the Nether crossing to the overworld weighed out the option for many.

The richest, the bravest, and the strongest could have portals. Kingdoms or bureaucrats or arena champions. 

The unknown insignia in their kidnappers’ shields flickers through Tommy’s mind, and his stomach drops. The thought of food makes his tongue feel like sandpaper, the wounds on his wrists flare to life and leave behind a stinging sensation alongside purple-ish bruises. 

Suddenly, somehow, the danger increased tenfold for them.


End file.
